Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: Why is it that this story just can't seem to wait for me to type it? I've dreamt of nothing but this story for the past three nights, and it's been driving me batty!

Brompton Cocktail

Chapter Fifteen

"You got us a new job, River?" Zoë asked, taking a seat in the copilot's chair.

River teetered her hand in a 'maybe' motion. "I have several possibilities, but no speaking power for the ship." She hit a button on the cortex and swiveled to face the first mate. She tilted her head in the way she did when reading or seeing something. "I'd suggest taking the load of paper products to Greenleaf." River made a gesture that Zoë took to mean she should take a look at the secondary cortex screen on the copilot's panel.

"Hmm… And from there, we can pull a decent enough cargo of citrus over to Harvest. Do a straight-trade for wheat."

"Plus commission, of course," River injected.

"Of course," Zoë nodded. "The wheat should pull six or seven times fair-market on Three Hills."

"Not to mention the medicinals," River added.

Zoë looked up at her. "What medicinals?"

"The ones we'll also pick up on Greenleaf," River explained. "Petty's been doing quite well at growing under Alliance radar, but can't get anything shipped off-world." She named one of the many growers of contraband pharmacology hidden in the depths of Greenleaf's jungles. "Should we take on any passengers?"

Zoë shook her head. "Don't really need any." She scanned the list of planned stops River had compiled. "This ought to do right well." She favored the girl with a small smile. "Profitable." I may leave more of the trades up to her in the future. Provided, of course, that this winds up as profitable as we hope it does.

"I'll try to do as well when we stop on Three Hills."

River's voice held that ineffable 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' undertone. Zoë quirked an eyebrow at her. "What ain't you saying about Three Hills?"

River shook her head. "Probability algorithms mean little if the future won't settle on a single path."

River-speak for 'I don't know what it is yet, but something's not gonna go right'. "Well, see about getting that paper cargo delivered. I know Mal's probably ready to get off this rock. I'll go let him know what the plan is."

River giggled. "Take a notebook."

"Shen me?"

She giggled again. "Trust me, you'll need it."

Meanwhile, Kaylee and Simon were wandering among the various street-peddlers. Kaylee was looking for something pretty to send to Inara for her birthday, and Simon went along just for the chance to get out and stretch his legs a bit. "How about this," Kaylee chirped, dragging him over to where a wizened old man was painting scenes on grains of rice.

Examples of the old man's works were displayed in tiny glass vials filled with clear oil. One of the ones Kaylee was examining had a faithful reproduction of the Mona Lisa painted on a fat little grain of rice. He had to admit the man had exceptional talent. "I think she'd love it, if you can find one with art. Don't send her one with just her name on it," he warned.

"Why not?" Kaylee asked, having had that very thought – the names were cheaper, by far, than any of the miniscule artwork.

The old man laughed and answered, "Yer lookin' fer a gift fer a friend, right? Not one fer a sweetie?"

Simon nodded. "Inara's a good friend of ours, but she's also a registered Companion. I doubt that she's looking to trade rice with anybody, let alone Kaylee here." Though his words could have made Kaylee mad not long after he'd joined the ship, she now knew him well enough that it wasn't meant as an insult.

"What are you two talkin' 'bout?"

Simon explained, "It's a custom, more common the closer you get to the core. If you're dating someone, and you want to make it serious, you give them a rice-pendant that has your name printed on it. If they're serious in return, they give you their name. It's called 'trading rice'." He let a wry expression flit across his face. "My father gave me my own rice when I turned sixteen – it was a not-so-subtle hint that I should start thinking about dating."

Kaylee's emotions, as always, whiplashed through several options. "Aw! That's sweet," she enthused. "The tradition, I mean. Not what your pa did. Though if it's that common, I suppose it could be sweet, too, in its own way, I mean." She peered a little closer at a rice-grain that showed a rather provocative nude stretched out on a microscopic sofa. "You still have yours?" she asked, focusing on not blushing. She moved her eyes and lost the fight when they landed on a similar nude, only this time it depicted a pair of well-endowed men tangled together.

"Yeah," Simon replied, answering her question and looking over her shoulder to see what caused the tips of her ears to turn bright pink. "I don't believe that particular position is physically possible," he commented, grateful for both his ability to don his 'doctor distance' at a whim and for the innumerable galleries containing 'fine art' his parents had dragged him to where paintings just as explicit existed in larger-than-life detail.

The old man laughed again. "Prolly not," he agreed, knowing his stock well enough that he knew exactly which work had caught the girl's eye. "'S a commission piece, though. Sly fella ordered it fer his lover an' ain't been by ta collect it yet." He twisted around and brought out a flat containing more tiny glass vials. "If yer wantin' a gift fer a friend, one'a these might do, considerin' the lady's occupation."

The rice grains were all painted with various flowers. Kaylee started looking through them and paused on one painted with cherry blossoms. "What about this, Simon?" she asked.

Simon took a look and smirked. "Um… Probably not. Though I'd pay good money to see Mal give that one to her. Preferably in person." He let out a little laugh. "Then again, maybe not. He'd undoubtedly wind up opening his mouth and actually saying something."

Kaylee turned her head and said, "Shen me?"

"Cherry blossoms're when yer tryin' ta say ya admire a woman's sexual nature, girlie," the old man explained. "An' when yer also tryin' ta say all nice-like that ya wouldn't mind her practicin' that nature on ya."

Kaylee returned the vial to its place like it burned her hand. "And here I was thinkin' it was just pretty."

"'Tis at that, 's why it's a nice way ta ask," the man agreed. "How 'bout this un," he selected one of the vials. It depicted a bouquet of sunflowers. "Says yer wishin' 'er a year o'happiness fer each flower. An' there ain't nuthin sexual 'bout it – a momma can give this ter her kids and won't be nuthin said on it. Makes a good gift among folks as just friends."

Kaylee took the small vial from the man and peered at the sunshiny flowers. She beamed at Simon. "Any problems with it?"

Simon shook his head. "Sounds perfect."

"How much?" she asked the old man.

While they settled into a spirited haggling session, Simon's eye was caught by the neighboring vendor and he wandered over to take a closer look at the various bits of brightwork on display. The woman was selling handmade jewelry, mostly copper with a few silver pieces, that contained semi-precious stones. The one piece in particular that had captured his attention was a braided copper bracelet that reminded him of Kaylee's hair when she had it in pigtails, decorated with chips of tiger-eye gems that almost exactly matched her eyes. His own haggling session took longer than he'd hoped, but by the time he'd tucked the bracelet into a pocket, Kaylee was just finishing up with the rice artist.

"You ready to head back?" he asked her.

"You betcha," she replied with a secretive smirk.

While Zoë and River plotted overtly on how to make them some decent money while covertly plotting ways for Jayne to get the last of his revenge, and Kaylee and Simon were out scoring various pretties, Jayne had retreated to his bunk. The adrenaline build-up over the past few weeks had finally stopped, but instead of satisfaction, he was left feeling… Well, over-feeling, and not emotionally. Emotionally, he was happy with how things had played out at the prison. Maybe a little regretful I couldn't do 'im over like I wanted, but that hundan's dead which is good enough for me. No, it wasn't anything to do with emotions that had him feeling so out-of-sorts. It was the flair-up he'd noticed from his fingertips.

The pain had steadily built up over the hour-and-a-half it took the pair of them to make their goodbyes to Jeff and return to Serenity. Coupled with the fact he'd not had anything to eat since supper the night before – and even that was only a few measly mouthfuls – and he was physically miserable, dizzy enough that he was honestly surprised he'd made it to his bunk without ricocheting off of any walls. Or landin' on my ass.

Enough so that he dug out the little test-box Dr. Baker had given him with the medicine and sat staring at it, the man's words echoing in his head. 'Now this is important, Cobb, so you pay close attention,' the doc had said, holding up the device Jayne was now contemplating. 'If the side-effects I just explained start to get too bad for ya to manage, you're gonna need to see if any of the meds need adjusted.' The doctor's instructions on how to use the machine underscored Jayne's actions. He sat it against the inside of his wrist and hit the proper button. When he'd expressed distaste at sticking his fingers, the doc had sympathized and recited a list of alternate sites from which to draw the sample – most of which had Jayne cringing when he'd gone over them.

A little light indicated the box was done drawing the blood needed, and Jayne sat it on his desk. Hope it ain't gonna say nothin' too technical. The room persisted in its slow, rocking twist around him and he closed his eyes. Several minutes later, it beeped. Jayne pried his eyes open and looked at the small screen. He had to smile a little. "Doc musta had it reprogrammed to speak plain," he mumbled.

The text was Chinese, but Jayne was actually better at reading that than English. Translated, it basically said, Your blood-sugar is too low. Eat something. You also need to increase the dosage of the pentizonithal to level 7.

Jayne tacked a mental note to his brain's 'must remember' corkboard to do so tomorrow morning, then rummaged in his desk for something snacklike. He knew he wouldn't be able to make it up his ladder to the galley, not with how much the plating under his feet seemed to want to act like a sailing-ship from Earth-that-Was. His questing fingers, screaming at him in agony the entire time, managed to locate a granola bar. He still didn't feel particularly hungry, but it was his favorite – dates, almonds, and honey, pressed in with the rolled oats and dipped in peanut butter – so it held far more appeal than the protein up in the kitchen.

He managed to surprise himself by actually finishing it. And it managed to slow the rocking of the room around him, too. However, with his equilibrium back where it ought to be, the screaming from his fingers could no longer be ignored. Tama de! 'S gettin' worse. His mind unhelpfully pointed out that it wasn't as bad as it had been that morning. He checked the chrono part of the screen next to his ladder, then twisted his entire head to get a better view of it. Ruttin' blind-spot's gonna be all kinds o' headaches. It was closing in on four in the afternoon, ship's time. Automatically, he knew that meant it was just about sundown outside. Just past ten hours since Zoë gimme the drops. His shoulders slumped. An' that's how long Baker tol' me it'd last. Gorram it! I ain't no ruttin' nao can, ren zha, xingjiao de tou bu junky! I ain't!

A knock at his hatch interrupted his thoughts. He stood and headed over. Opening the hatch revealed Oriole. "Ya want somethin'?" Fine-lookin' woman, he thought, as he usually did when she landed in his line of sight.

She nodded, ignoring his attempt to peer up her skirt. "I could use a hand moving a few things up to the kitchen," she said. "And River mentioned a delivery of cargo should be arriving in about a half an hour or so."

Even the thought of schlepping boxes had his fingertips singing more intensely. Jayne nodded at her. "Be right there," he said, slamming the hatch shut. Damn it. He slumped into his chair and grudgingly pulled the Opianax from its sleeve. Still ain't no damn junky, he thought, forcefully slamming the vial into the port on the injection gun.

Ya do realize, his wife's voice spoke up even as he pulled the trigger, that this is s'posed to make it so ya can still work, right? An' ain't most junkies willin' ta take it? Seems like ya don't fit the description there, honey.

Jayne had to admit she had a point. God, I miss ya. Ya know that, right?

Her laughter inside his head was all the reply he got. It was more than enough.

A/N2: Insofar as I could see, nowhere in canon does it detail whether or not the typical 'rules' (like in the US) for dating are still in use. I wanted something akin to trading class rings or buying a promise-ring, but I didn't want actual jewelry-style rings to come into play. I hope I was clear enough with what 'trading rice' entails. If not, lemme know. Thanks.

Lemme know how I'm doin', 'kay?